


Summer Nights II

by Marta



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: F/M, Family, First Time, Gen, Illegitimacy, Pre-Canon, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-21
Updated: 2007-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/pseuds/Marta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer of 3000 was the hottest one Faramir ever remembered. When he found himself lost in Dol Amroth and stopped at an inn to ask directions, he was surprised to find the place was a haven from the heat. He decided to stay for dinner and when the matron offered him a cool room to lie down in while his meal was prepared, he gladly accepted, without realising exactly what he was accepting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

Faramir walked beneath the sweltering Dol Amroth sun, listening to the music of the gulls challenging the ocean's roar, a Sindarin grammar tucked under his arm. _Home sweet home_ , he thought bitterly to himself.  _Had I known it would be this hot, I would have stayed in Minas Tirith_. He kicked a seashell out into the surf and watched it sink.  _Are you not supposed to keep this heat away?_  he chastised it.  _You always have before_. Ever since he was old enough to remember, Faramir and his brother Boromir came to Dol Amroth to escape the summer heat. Most summers it had worked. Why not this time?

Faramir held his book out at arm's length, clenched his hands around it, and thought about throwing it out to sea as well.  _No, that would never do; the useless thing is too valuable_. He heaved an exasperated sigh. What am I doing here? he asked himself, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.  _It will be another week ere Boromir is released by his captain -- and Elphir is scarce old enough to make mischief._

Dol Amroth had seemed such a good idea back in Minas Tirith, but anywhere but Minas Tirith had seemed a good idea. The white marble reflected the sun's harsh rays until the entire city baked and you could not find an inch of shade, be you beggar's son or steward's. Dol Amroth at least had other colours of stone -- red, grey, and, yes, some white -- so it did not reflect the heat quite so badly.  _Small mercy_ , Faramir thought. 

Every morning, to gain some relief, Faramir took a book, a loaf of bread, and a flask of water and walked through the woods outside the city. There at least the branches blocked out the sun above, even if the air was unbearably muggy. It had served him well so far.

That afternoon, though, the mosquitoes had arrived.

Faramir lasted an hour, swatting away the pests and trying to concentrate on the verb conjugations he had set himself to review that afternoon. " _Linen, linnech, linnant, linnem …_ " he recited to himself, shoving his fingers in his ears to block out the mocking sound of the crashing waves.  _Oh domain of Ossë, you are supposed to bring cool breezes. So -- why -- don't you!?_ He looked down at the book, realising he had lost his place. "Linen, linnech …" He gave up. He slammed the book shut, flattened his long-empty water flask under his arm, and began the walk back to the city.

At last Faramir reached the city gates. The bugs had not followed him -- some small fortune at last -- but here the heat was worse than ever, impossible though that seemed. Faramir wandered for some time, searching for a spot of shade without success. The heat kept him from staying in one place overlong. He walked up one street and down another, idly letting his mind wander.  _The green lawns are lovely_ , he thought to himself.  _Wouldn't they make Minas Tirith look fine_? He roamed through the seven circles in his mind, adding flower gardens and small lawns, shoving centuries-old buildings aside to make room.  _There, that's better_ , he thought with satisfaction, looking around to see where he was.

He realised he was lost.

 _Curse it all_ , he thought angrily,  _you have been coming here nigh seventeen summers and still you cannot find your way home_? He calmed down and took a good look around. The road was lined with bushes here, and on either side stood a row of houses and inns made from the finest stone, each several stories tall. Faramir craned his neck, trying to find a familiar landmark, but no such luck.  _Well, there's nothing for it,_ he chastised himself,  _you'll just have to go back the way you came_.

 _And which way is that_? the other part of his brain answered. Faramir looked around and realised he had no idea how he had got here. He could easily get himself lost worse, and that wouldn't do at all.

His eyes rested on the neatly carved ash sign hanging in front of the grey stone building. The Silver Fox. Now, that looked promising. It was an inn, so he would not have to disturb some goodwife's dinner table, and what he could see of the inside through the small window -- some tables with proper settings and suitably fancy chairs -- seemed pleasant enough.  _I'll just step inside, ask directions, and be on my way_.

Faramir placed his hand against the door to push it open but stepped back in surprise.  _Berúthiel's cats, that's cold! If the door is that cool, that means_ … He quickly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"May I help you, my lord?" Faramir looked up and saw a middle-aged woman approaching. She wore a crimson, high-collared dress and had her hair in a tight bun.  _A bit austere, but not unfriendly_ , Faramir decided.

"Good afternoon," Faramir said, bowing slightly and looking around. "How is it so cool in here?"

"Elvish magic," the matron replied, a twinkle in her eyes. "What would you prefer?" She waited a second, looking at him expectantly, but when he did not answer she added, "A table perhaps?"

"Yes, that sounds nice," Faramir heard himself reply.  _Now that I think about it_ , he thought to himself,  _I'm already here; I might as well eat dinner. Surely Uncle would understand, and it is my silver. _

Faramir sat down at the table to which the matron led him. "It is always a pleasure," she said, "to welcome one of the Prince's men." Her eyes rested on his ring, a silver band with the design of a swan etched into it and a light blue gem where the swan's mouth would be, and Faramir smiled understandingly. The ring was the mark of his uncle's household, and all the merchants throughout town recognised it.

"I am the Prince's nephew," Faramir volunteered. "The ring was a gift from him."

"Ah, my lord Boromir!" the matron exclaimed, a look of recognition crossing her face. "I should have known, of course. But you have changed --"

Faramir held up his hand, silencing her. "Boromir is my brother. I am Faramir."

Her face paled noticeably, and she bowed her head. "My lord Faramir, pardon my --"

"Do not trouble yourself!" he laughed. "'Twas a simple mistake." Faramir nodded to the chair across the table and continued, "Please, sit, if you will." After the matron had settled herself into her chair Faramir said, "Did my brother come here often, then?"

"On occasion," she replied. "Yes, your brother came when he could, two or three times a month during his summer visits, since he was not much older than you. He loved the food and the wine -- and the pretty faces of our wenches, if I may say so. Where is he? I would have expected him to join you."

"He will arrive within the week," Faramir said. "He is a member of the guard now, you know…"

"Oh, yes," the matron replied. "Of course. He is quite the man, your brother."

"He thinks he is, at any rate."

That made her laugh, for some reason. "But here I am talking of Boromir," she said, "when it is you I should be seeing to. Will you be wanting something to eat?"

Faramir nodded. "Nothing cooked, I think; it is far too hot for that. What do you have cold?"

She thought for a moment. "The crab is delicious. We could prepare a spread from it, if you like. Perhaps some white bread, nice cheese, a cold spread, and a glass of wine. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful," Faramir replied, giving her a tired but appreciative smile.

"My poor dear!" she exclaimed. "You look exhausted, and I should hardly wonder in this heat." She thought for a second, then nodded to herself, a playful grin spreading across her face. "I have an idea. Your meal will take some time to prepare. While I must apologise for confusing you with your brother, my Lord Faramir, I am sure you will forgive me for suggesting that you follow his practice of taking a rest before your meal in one of the rooms upstairs. I can send for you when your meal is ready."

His face lit up at the thought of a cool, dark room and a bed on which to relax. "That would be wonderful. Are you sure it is all right?" In Minas Tirith at least, he would not have been offered a room before dinner, but this was not Minas Tirith. Boromir had always accompanied him before, and for all he knew this was the custom in Dol Amroth. And he was not going to say no to a cool bed on such a hot day.

"Of course. Just take those stairs," she said, motioning to a stairwell at the back of the room. "Room 4 should be free."

*****

Faramir stretched out on the luxurious bed, the silk sheets even cooler than the rest of the room. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the flowers on the bedside table.  _Why Boromir had kept this place a secret for so long_ … He would have to ask his brother, when he arrived, but that could wait.

The door opened, and Faramir looked over, surprised. He saw in the dim light a girl a few years older than him, her thick black hair in a loose braid down her back. "Is my dinner ready?" he asked softly.

"No," she replied. "We have some time yet. The matron said you would enjoy some company."

Faramir sat up. "We? I did not request company."

The girl suppressed a giggle. "As you insist, my lord," she said and sat next to him on the bed.

Faramir moved over a little to give her more room. "What is your name?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have been called many things, my lord," she answered, "and you may name me as you wish. But if you desire it, my friends here call me Isilwen."

 **Faramir tried to forget his suspicions. She seemed pleasant enough, and he would not refuse her company if she wished to give it, especially from one so beautiful. "Isilwen," he said, smiling congenially. "That is a beautiful name."**

Isilwen nodded. "So I have been told, by many." She looked at him and ran her fingers through his hair. Faramir leaned back and looked at her, a queer look in his eye. "Your hair, it is -- it is wonderful," she said. "Do all the men of your city have such luxurious hair?"

"Not -- not all, but many." He reached up and took her hand, removing it from his hair and laying it on the bed.

"You are blessed," Isilwen continued. She eased toward him and traced the nape of his neck with one long finger, allowing her hand to rest just inside his tunic on his shoulder. She began to kiss the back of his neck but he forestalled her.

"Tell me, Isilwen," he demanded, attempting to keep his voice steady, "why -- why are you here?"

"The matron said my services were needed," she replied calmly. "Have you changed your mind, then?"

"I never made up my mind to begin with," he answered indignantly.  _I can guess only too well what she suspects_ , Faramir thought to himself,  _but best to be sure_. He turned to face her, and her warm silken lips trailed his cheek. He laid his hand on her shoulder, holding her slightly back. Then, deciding physical contact was not a good idea, he snatched his hand away and shuffled along the bed further away from her. "What services -- w-what, exactly, do you speak of?" he asked, irritated to hear his voice wobbling.

"The usual, of course," she said. "I am skilled in all the arts, and whatever you wish --"

Faramir's eyes narrowed. "All I  _wished_ was a cool room out of the sun and a good meal," he said.

"Did you not request the room?" Isilwen asked, a confused look on her face.

"Aye," Faramir said, staring at her in disbelief, "a cool place to rest until my meal was ready. Nothing more, I assure you!"

Isilwen looked at the ceiling and breathed a slightly annoyed sigh. "You are new to the city." She looked at him and shook her head. "When you ask for a room in an inn such as this, my lord, you are asking for more than a bed. You are asking for a wench to share the bed with, as well." Faramir opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. "Shh," Isilwen said. "It is all right. A simple misunderstanding."

"I am so sorry --" Faramir began.

"No harm," Isilwen said, chuckling to herself. "Our ways are strange to you."

"Are you mocking me?" Faramir asked her, a little cross that she seemed to find his discomfort so amusing. "How dare you --"

"No, my lord, I assure you," she replied quickly. "I apologise. I was merely thinking of the matron, and the look on her face when she realises her mistake." Faramir nodded, and Isilwen continued, "I will go, if you wish." She gazed at him seductively. "Or I could stay."

Faramir thought about that for a moment, looking at the bed and the girl. It would be nice, he thought to himself.  _Boromir seems to enjoy it, and it is so cool_ … "He breathed in her aroma -- lilies, rose petals, and vines -- and allowed his hand to rest on her knee. He leaned over to kiss her but stopped himself.  _With her? She has probably pleasured countless men! And a woman is not to be bought like you purchase a bolt of cloth in the market. You don't do this, Faramir_. Slowly he shook his head. "I think you should go."

"As you wish," Isilwen said. She left quietly, pulling the door shut behind her, and Faramir tried to relax again. The room was cool, true, but he could not stop thinking about what all had occurred here, on the very bed he laid on. He got up and walked down the stairs to the common room below.

"My lord?" the matron asked when she saw him. "Is something the matter?"

"It is indeed," Faramir replied coldly. "I did not request… 'company'."

The matron blanched slightly. "I am sorry for the confusion, my lord. I only assumed that your brother --"

"My brother's actions are not my own," he interrupted. "Faramir of Gondor does not pay for women, whether his brother will or not. This was a mistake." He sighed, and his eyes softened slightly. As angry as he was, he did not mean to frighten the woman. "In Minas Tirith, this would never have happened. I suggest, in the future, that you ask less coded questions and get more plain answers from visitors to your fair city." He reached into his money bag and pulled out a few silver pieces, laying them on the table. "For your kitchen's trouble. I shall not be dining here after all."

Faramir turned his back and marched out the door. He would find his own way home.


	2. Part II

Uncle?" Faramir asked, knocking on the door to the parlour. "I am back."

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, only to be enveloped in a crushing bear hug. He looked up at the strong shoulders and the raven locks not unlike his own. "Boromir!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were not coming until next week."

"Now, is that any way to greet your brother?" Boromir ruffled Faramir's hair, then the two of them sat down on the couch opposite Imrahil's chair. Faramir looked first at Boromir, then over at his uncle, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Father insisted," Boromir explained. "He ordered my captain to release me a few days early. 'I will not have Faramir running around Dol Amroth by himself!'" Faramir laughed at the imitation of Denethor's gruffness. "He did not trust you, brother," Boromir continued, "and wanted me to come look after you. But it seems his fears were groundless. Uncle tells me how you leave every morning to read a book and are home every night by dinner --"

"My book!" Faramir cried. "I left it --" He stopped short.

"Yes?" Imrahil asked. "What of it?"

Faramir blushed slightly. "Nowhere. It is not important."

Boromir raised his eyebrow at that. "O ho, maybe Father was not quite as wrong as I thought! I had hoped you were not really spending all day reviewing Elvish -- that the book was just your excuse. And I see I was correct. Come now, Faramir, what mischief have you done today?"

"Mischief?" Faramir asked, fixing his brother in his stare. "Why, I have done no such thing. No worse than you would, at any rate."

"That does not eliminate much."

"No, indeed!" Imrahil laughed.

Boromir gave Faramir a conspiratorial smile, then looked at his uncle. "True. Perhaps I should set a better example, but then Faramir would have no excuse, and we cannot have that, can we?" Faramir tried to force a laugh, but it was not very convincing. Noticing the uneasy look on Faramir's face Boromir decided not to push the matter. "We eat in an hour?" he asked, and Imrahil nodded. "Then I must ask your leave. That is, unless you wish your sons to suffer the smells of the road all through dinner?"

"Of course not," Imrahil replied. "Out with you, then. You, too, Faramir." And the brothers left.

Once they were out in the hall, Boromir turned to Faramir. "Come now, what did you do? You can tell me."

"Nothing," Faramir replied, blushing. "I was lost, and I --"

Faramir was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal coming down the hall. The brothers turned and saw a small girl toddling towards them with seemingly impossible speed. "Bori!" she cried, and Boromir ran to her, catching her up in a hug.

"Hallo, Thíri," he said, setting her down on the floor and kneeling in front of her. "And how is the Lady of Dol Amroth?"

"Good," Lothíriel replied, curtseying awkwardly in front of her cousins and dropping what she had been holding.

"What do you have there?" Faramir asked, coming over.

Lothíriel bent over and picked up the bronze spoon she had dropped. "Pretty," she said, looking up at him nervously.

"Aye, it is," Boromir replied. "Where did you get it?"

Lothíriel thought about that, then ran behind Faramir, peeking out around his legs.

"It is all right," Boromir replied. "It  _is_  very pretty, but don't you think Cook will miss it?" Lothíriel nodded, and Boromir picked her up in his arms. "Well, let us give it back to her, shall we?" The three stopped at the kitchen and returned the spoon, then Boromir and Faramir left Lothíriel in her nursery. "Do they always let her run loose like that?" Boromir asked.

"No, but she is small and her legs are quick," Faramir replied. He was silent for a second.  _You can tell him, Faramir; he's your brother_. At last he continued, "Boromir, we must talk."

Boromir nodded gravely. "But not here. This should be a talk between brothers."

Five minutes later Boromir and Faramir reached the suite of rooms they shared. Faramir sat down on Boromir's bed and watched his brother remove his tunic and began washing. "We need to talk," Faramir repeated.

"We do," Boromir agreed. "You were telling me about how you lost your book."

Faramir tugged uncomfortably at his collar. "I left it at an inn," he said at last, "the Silver Fox. The matron said you come there often?"

Boromir nodded. "I go there on occasion. It is a nice inn, and it serves its purpose. How did you find it?"

Faramir turned his head away and mumbled, "I got lost."

Boromir left his cloth beside the washbasin, came over to the bed and sat beside his brother. Faramir felt his brother's eyes boring into him. "So did you enjoy your dinner?" Boromir asked.

Faramir shook his head. "I left before my meal was ready."

"Oh?" Boromir asked. "Why? The wine there is rumoured to be the best in the city."

Faramir turned to face him, and Boromir's eyes flashed with suspicion. He ran his finger along Faramir's cheek and inspected it. Faramir sighed quietly, letting his head drop, his long hair falling into his face. He thought he had wiped away all traces of Isilwen's kiss, but obviously he should have been more thorough.

"Faramir, do you know what happens in that house?" Boromir asked.

"Not when I went in," Faramir replied flatly, averting his eyes.

"And now?"

Faramir lifted his head, brushing the hair away from his face, his eyes ablaze. How dare Boromir impugn his honour so! "I would never --  _never_  -- have entered such a house if I knew what went on in the upper rooms. You know that."

Faramir inhaled slowly and saw his brother do likewise. This was a conversation they had had before, so often that Faramir could guess his brother's thoughts. Few men would admit to visiting a brothel, Boromir would say, but most did, at least before they were married. Aye, but there was a good reason men would not admit to purchasing such a service. They were Númenóreans, elf-friends, not Easterlings. Certain things required commitment, and a shared bed was one of them. And if other men forgot that fact, how did that excuse Faramir from doing what he knew was right?

As Faramir drew in his breath he caught the scent of lilies, vines, and rose-petals; he knew that Boromir, sitting so close, must smell it as well. Boromir leaned over Faramir's shoulders, pulling the tunic to the side, and sniffed. "You did not answer my question, Faramir," Boromir said, his voice terse. "Do you know what happens in that house?" He straightened Faramir's tunic, then returned to the washbasin. "Do not try to deny it; I smell her on you." He returned with a wet cloth and began to ruthlessly scrub away the remains of Isilwen's lip colouring.

"Nothing happened," Faramir said.

"Do not lie to me, Faramir," Boromir replied angrily. "I am no hypocrite. I will not think you less honourable for indulging in what I do as well. Why do you hold back so?"

"Nothing happened," Faramir repeated stubbornly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then shut it.

"When you say that," Boromir asked, "do you mean that nothing happened -- that you went in, decided you were not hungry, and left? Or perhaps that you did no more than I would have done?" Boromir placed his callused hands on Faramir's shoulders and turned him so that the brothers faced each other.

Faramir fidgeted under Boromir's rough touch. "Nothing happened," he said a third time.  **But he could not force himself to look his brother in the eyes, and he knew Boromir must guess something of the truth.**

Boromir leaned back against the headboard, his lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. "Something happened. Tell me, Faramir, or I will go to the matron herself. Do not worry, I will not laugh at you."

"I was lost," Faramir admitted, "like I said, and so I went in to ask directions. The matron offered me a room; I accepted." The smile Boromir had been fighting broke out, followed quickly by a soft chuckle. "Boromir, you promised!" Faramir cried indignantly. "And what of it? In Minas Tirith I could accept a room without fear of such unwanted company."

"You are not in Minas Tirith," Boromir answered; "this is Dol Amroth. Uncle would say that men are not so forward here as they are in Minas Tirith, and that they would not use courtesans if everyone who saw them enter such a house knew exactly what they were doing. And he has a point; but in Minas Tirith, men do not fend off unwanted advances. Yet from all you said, I would think her company was not altogether unwelcome."

Faramir blushed.  **"Nothing happened, but I wished it had." Then he shook his head. A man of Gondor should hardly think such thoughts, let alone share them.**  "I did not ask for her company, or at least I did not mean to. But she said I did…" His voice trailed off.

"A little wisdom from the guards, brother:

 **' _Ask for a ground room if sleep you desire; so says the fisherman's lore.  
But seek for the stairs and the rooms above, if you wish for something more.'"_**

 **A moment passed, then Boromir continued. "Did she have a name?"**

 **Faramir sighed contentedly. "Isilwen."**

 **"You have good taste," Boromir said, obviously amused. "Aye, I can see why you would wish to bed her."**

 **"I never said --" Faramir began to protest.**

 **"Yes, you did," Boromir reminded him. "And why not? She is beautiful."**

 **"Because," Faramir replied in his superior tone, "I do not do that. I would sooner find release in myself than in another man's toy."**

 **"Toy?" Boromir asked incredulously. "I hope you find release, then, for there are worse 'toys,' as you put it, than tavern wenches." He paused. "Do you remember Eseleth?"**

 **Faramir thought for a moment, then nodded. "She was your chamber maid, was she not?"**

 **"Yes," Boromir replied, nodding his head seriously. "Yes. And do you know what became of her?"**

 **Faramir considered that, trying to recall what _had_ become of her. "I have not seen her in years," he said. I believe she went to live with her aunt in Anórien…"**

 **"Why?" Boromir asked. When Faramir could not answer he continued, "Eseleth left Minas Tirith because she was three months with child. With _my_ child."  **Boromir's eyes clouded, and he said, almost to himself, "My son."****

Faramir sat in silence and tried to ease the knot growing in his chest. He was an uncle… he had a nephew… the boy didn't know…

He looked sharply at his brother. "And why was I never told?" he demanded.

This was clearly not the reaction his brother had expected. "You were a boy --" Boromir began.

"I am not one now, nor have I been one for many years. I would have understood."  _So you consider me man enough to bed a girl_ , Faramir thought bitterly,  _but not old enough to know the consequences of your doing so?_

"Would you have understood, Faramir?" Boromir asked sceptically. "Do you understand even now?"

"I don't know," Faramir admitted. "I like to think I would have understood, but -- Boromir, you have just told me I have a nephew somewhere in the wilds of Anórien. News like that takes time to get used to." He sighed, then repeated stubbornly, "I still think you should have told me."

"Now, that would have been an interesting conversation!" Boromir laughed. "Tell me, how should I have opened the subject?  _Faramir, when I was your age, I slept with the maids, and now one of them cares for my son --_ "

"I already knew you bedded tavern girls, and you are not the only man to sleep with women besides his wife," Faramir replied coldly.

"Or perhaps,  _Somewhere in Anórien lives a girl who will never marry because I could not resist her charms --_ "

"All right!" Faramir cried, clenching his hands around the edge of the bed. Boromir laid his hand on Faramir's shoulder soothingly, and Faramir relaxed his grip and smoothed the quilt out. "Where is the boy?" he asked. He stood up and marched over to the washbasin and splashed some cold water on his face to calm himself.

"I do not know," Boromir said.

"What do you mean you do not know?" Faramir demanded, spinning around and walking back to the bed. "How could you not know? We are talking about your son!"

"Father would not tell me," Boromir replied calmly.

"Did you not search for them?"

Boromir shook his head. "What would that have achieved? I will be Steward one day, and a steward needs a wife, and a proper heir. Eseleth can provide me with neither. If I found the boy I would only bring them both pain; I have harmed them enough."

Faramir sat down and leaned back on the bed, sighing. "All right. I still say you should have told me."

"Perhaps," Boromir replied. "Yes. I should have told you. Do you hate me, brother?"

Faramir looked over at Boromir. "No. This is quite a shock, yes, but you are still my brother." He hesitated for a second. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I will not have you repeating my mistakes," Boromir said. "Faramir, there is a boy somewhere in Anórien who will  _never_ see how much his father might love him. Why? Because Father did not have this conversation with me. I will not have you ruining some maid's life, depriving some child of a father, like I did. Your pride is not worth that much."

"I would not have let Father send her away," Faramir replied.

"No, you would not, would you?" Boromir mused. "You would have married her. And that is even worse. You would throw away your life, everything you have worked for, for one night of passion?"

Faramir sat up and looked over at Boromir, a wounded expression on his face. "Do you really think I have so little control, Boromir, that I would do that to some poor girl? To myself?"

"I do not know, Faramir," Boromir answered. "I thought that I had control. All I know is that you are seventeen, as was I." Faramir shot him a hurt look. "Oh, do not look at me that way, brother! I made my decisions, as Isilwen made hers. Does that make us so horrible?"

"Why?" Faramir demanded.

"Why what?" Boromir asked. "Why did I never seek out the child? I've explained --"

"No," Faramir replied, waving off the question. "That I understand -- your desire I understand all too well, and I can see why finding the boy would only make life more difficult for everyone." He laid his hand on Boromir's shoulder. "That was many years ago. The idea will take some getting used to, but I will accept it. No, I was wondering why any woman would choose to trade her favours for coin? Did Isilwen really have any other choice?"

Boromir nodded. "The Silver Fox does not accept unwilling girls. If Isilwen had not chosen this life freely, they would have helped her find work elsewhere. But if you would hear her whole story, you should ask her yourself."

"You mean I should go back?" Faramir asked, blushing slightly. "I -- I couldn't. They would laugh at me."

"Nay," Boromir said, "'tis more than their lives are worth to ridicule the Prince's nephew." Faramir felt Boromir's eyes rest on him, and for a long time the two brothers sat in silence. At last Boromir stood up, walked to his saddlebags, and pulled out a fresh tunic. "This is something you must decide for yourself, Faramir," he said.

Somewhere in the castle a bell rang. "We should get ready for dinner," Faramir said, and he went to his own room to change.


	3. Epilogue

The next few days passed in relative peace. Boromir entertained Faramir with stories from the soldier's barracks as they walked around town, harassing the shopkeepers and tradesmen. Neither of the brothers mentioned the Silver Fox again. Faramir knew this was something he must decide on his own, and he was glad Boromir allowed him the time to do so.

But what was there to decide? Faramir detested the thought of lying with any paid woman, no matter how beautiful. The idea repulsed him. And yet -- and yet, if he were honest with himself, the idea of lying with this particular woman, with Isilwen, he found tantalising. The more he tried not to think about her, the more his mind refused to focus on anything else.

And why not? Other men did it. Men he respected; his brother, for one. They all enjoyed it, and were none the worse for it. And denying himself was keeping him from enjoying his holiday, or focusing on what he might hope to accomplish. She had chosen this life freely, Boromir had made that perfectly clear. No one had to know he went, if he decided to. Only himself.

But who mattered more than himself? He did not live with other men's condemnation buried deep in his heart. It was not their conscience that kept him awake at night or let him sleep soundly. He often would walk the streets of Dol Amroth, gazing up at the stars, convincing himself one way or the other, only to change his mind at the last moment.

 _Boromir is right_ , he thought miserably.  _How much longer can I control myself? And 'tis best to accept my failings. Who am I, to do what other men cannot? But, aye, how can I do otherwise? How can I simply choose to not live as I believe? To which the other part of him replied: Yet you are more than merely your loins, Faramir. Whatever your choice, you shall remain the man you always were, a son of Númenor of the highest quality_. 

Yet still he wavered.

Several more days passed, and still Faramir did not breach the subject with his brother. Then one morning, as Boromir and Faramir were leaving for a morning of swimming down near the bay, they saw Imrahil hurrying down the corridor. "Boromir," Imrahil called, "and Faramir, may I speak with you?" The look on Imrahil's face showed this was less a request than a command.

"Yes, Uncle," Boromir answered, a slightly confused look on his face. The brothers followed their uncle down the corridor. Once they turned the corner Imrahil handed them a folded piece of parchment, then leaned against the wall as they read it.

"The Silver Fox," Boromir said, eyeing the insignia at the top. Faramir's eyes scanned the sheet, then waited for his brother to finish reading it. "Aye," Boromir said, "but what of it? You never questioned my using your account before."

Imrahil looked at Faramir, but his nephew's eyes did not reveal guilt or innocence. The older apparently did not yet understand the problem. 

"Boromir," Imrahil replied, "I love you as a son, but even a son must show some restraint."

"I am sorry, Uncle, but I do not understand --"

"Read," Imrahil ordered, so Boromir read. Still Faramir waited for the realisation to hit his brother. One visit more than two weeks ago, but that was before either of the brothers had arrived; surely Imrahil could not blame them for that. That only left the eleventh, three days ago. "Really, lad," Imrahil said, "twice in the same night?"

Boromir looked back down at the bill, then his eyes darted over to Faramir, and his lips twitched in what Faramir knew to be the sign of a suppressed smile.  _So he knows_ , Faramir thought. Two visits in one night, one of them his and the other mine. "My apologies, Uncle," Boromir said, bowing slightly. "I will try to exercise more restraint in the future."

Imrahil nodded, apparently accepting the apology. As the brothers turned toward the door, Faramir felt Boromir's arm wrap around his shoulder. Boromir knew, and he approved. That was enough.


	4. Notes

Isilwen, Eseleth, and the matron are original characters; the rest belong to Tolkien. Isilwen's name comes from the Sindarin "moon"+"maiden," or -- with a bit of poetic licence -- "maiden of the night." Eseleth's name is random, and any meaning for it is completely incidental.

In chapter one Faramir is conjugating the Sindarin verb "lind-", "to sing." He is conjugating it in past tense: "I sang, you sang, he sang, we sang."

The deathdate of Imrahil's wife is not given, but she was alive at least in 2999, when Lothiriel was born. I theorize that she probably died in childbirth or soon after Lothiriel was born. The visit to the Silver Fox a week before Boromir arrived was Imrahil's; his wife is of course dead at this point.

 

My thanks to the many people who helped me with this piece.

* Iris for doing a grammar beta for me  
* Liz and Carol for helping me work through some ideas over e-mail. Further thanks to Liz for the idea of families having accounts with a brothel.  
* Ithilwen for the Elvish conjugations in part one  
* Isabeau, who first used the name "Thiri" for "Lothiriel" (first to my knowledge; if anyone   
knows of an earlier usage please let me know), which I now use in chapter two.   
* AE and Elvenesse for their helpful feedback.

Isilwen, Eseleth, and the matron are original characters; the rest belong to Tolkien. Isilwen's name comes from the Sindarin "moon"+"maiden," or -- with a bit of poetic licence -- "maiden of the night." Eseleth's name is random, and any meaning for it is completely incidental.

In chapter one Faramir is conjugating the Sindarin verb "lind-", "to sing." He is conjugating it in past tense: "I sang, you sang, he sang, we sang."

The deathdate of Imrahil's wife is not given, but she was alive at least in 2999, when Lothiriel was born. I theorize that she probably died in childbirth or soon after Lothiriel was born. The visit to the Silver Fox a week before Boromir arrived was Imrahil's; his wife is of course dead at this point.


End file.
